


confess nothing, deny nothing

by spocklee



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:48:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25412650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spocklee/pseuds/spocklee
Summary: An argument after Julian's run in with Section 31 ends up being about something else.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 30
Kudos: 101





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i've been watching ds9 and really trying to pin down what the fuck is going on here specifically

“Don’t you see? The reason their technique failed was because they were missing empathy; the very thing they need to discard to do that kind of work. They didn’t think to include Miles’ injury because it didn’t occur to them that it’s something I would notice. They made everyone too harsh, to back me into a corner; but what would have hurt more is if everyone had been sympathetic and doubtful but still turned me in– because then I would have believed it. They stepped on their own toes.”

“Is that what you learned, doctor? You sound very proud of yourself. Another win for love and compassion, I suppose.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“I think there’s another lesson here; that the best lies come from those who empathize with us.”

“Of course, I’m not arguing against that. You can manipulate someone better if you understand them.”

“Well, then imagine this, doctor. Instead of those drones who captured you, instead it was someone who genuinely cares for you, understands you. Imagine it wasn’t a holosuite but really was Commander Sisko and the team, and they really did give you up because even though everything in them was crying against it, they still had loyalty to our wonderful Federation. The captain, O’Brien, Dax– Someone who does have empathy and compassion, and doesn’t want to hurt or deceive you. But they do, because the choice is between you and something they have even more loyalty towards– say, their family or moral duty.”

“Or their homeworld.”

“Or that, yes. You say that it would have been more believable if your friends had not wanted to turn you in but still did it– it also would have been more effective because it would have been more painful. What would destroy your lovely resolve more, being tortured and betrayed by a stranger you can rage against or by those you love most, who love you but not enough?”

Julian smiled quietly at him, unimpressed. It was not the charming and delighted smile from their early lunches, but the only kind the doctor seemed willing to muster these days. It was adversarial, almost pitying. Julian’s voice always matched it in turn.

“Are we supposed to sit here and pretend I’m still naive to what it would feel like to find out a friend was willing to have me explicitly killed for their own interests?”

Garak opened his mouth and blinked rapidly before reassessing what he would say; a facial tic he’d once amused himself with to seem more innocent that had unfortunately become more and more sincere.

“I’m saying that it’s never a win for compassion, if we’re talking about some grand philosophical debate about the future of our ethics over some distant horizon. Utilitarianism will always demand it give way. If we’re talking about it as a more efficient pain with a duller tool, then yes. Compassion can brutalize wonderfully.”

Julian’s smile slipped away, and it tugged at Garak even as it relieved him. His eyes drifted and considered something in the vicinity of the floor behind them. A rare break in their recent conversations that was not bitterly amused or seething, but a genuine pause to think. The baited breath of if Julian would relent and agree with him (which, bless him, he hardly ever did) and the argument would end or if he would stubbornly draw it out, and the rhythm reminded him rudely of the way they used to have sex. Julian’s eyes refocused on him, high and dignified.

“I agree,” Garak smiled, and Julian smiled back smugly as a ghost of their early relationship, “that compassion can brutalize. But only if it fails.”

“Fails? Against what, doctor?”

Julian waved his hand in the air, using the blustering deep voice that set his chin back and furrowed his eyebrows in an Earth impression of some pretentious diplomat or intellectual, but only now seemed like he was mocking his own former idiosyncracies, “Oh, against duty, loyalty, fear, whatever it may be. Yes, the compassion makes the betrayal worse, but ultimately the betrayal wouldn’t happen if the compassion was strong enough in the first place.”

“So,” Garak paused, looking for the loophole he would weave through, “Compassion must be either completely absent or there to such a degree that it succeeds in some vague goal of Doing What’s Right.”

The tight smirk was back, overlaid thinly with a kinder smile from the past.

“And any level of compassion in between is pointless, assuming we’re speaking of binary decisions, because no matter what you feel about the target, the answer still has to be either yes or no.”

“And I would say there _are_ no non-binary decisions, doctor. Maybe a succession of smaller binary decisions that seem non-binary from a distance. You seem like you have a million choices but all significant outcomes can be put on a binary scale. I’ll take a holiday in Rakantha, or I won’t. I’ll survive the war, or I won’t. So like you say, pointless to let compassion muddy the waters when you’re choosing something like ‘I’ll turn in Doctor Bashir for treason, or I won’t.’”

“Except, of course, putting me through the stress of my friends betraying me is the point.”

“Which it may be. In _some_ circles.”

“So I think we might actually be able to agree for once then,” Julian leaned forward over the table, and Garak became sharply aware that he had lost some footing over the years as he leaned back, “It has to be all or nothing. Unless the point is just to cause pain.”

“Exactly the kind of conclusion I would expect from someone with your hard integrity, doctor,” the slight beat of triumph at the way Julian’s eyes slid down his chest at the word _hard,_ “I do know you hate to deal in grey.”

Julian’s eyes flashed with something– the pleasure of being understood? The annoyance at being dismissed? Maybe only the inner decision that something had ended, that leaked out through the windows of the body as one would notice the lights of a house turning off across the street. Intimate, brutal, like a blow that didn’t seem so hard at first but still broke the ribs.

“I suppose it’s childish of me to want something as I deserve– as I’m entitled enough to _believe_ I deserve it– or not at all. Maybe it would be better if I could refuse to commit myself to anything and just scavenge whatever good feeling without having to ever take a real stance or risk, and call it cunning. That would be what a less naive person would do.”

“ _Childish_ might not be a fitting word–”

“ _Might, may be,_ anyways, Garak, I have something to attend to, you’ll have to excuse me,” and Julian stood up and left, but not before Garak was permitted to see the boredom in his eyes.

-

Julian met him at the door. He had expected, after ringing the bell, that he might hear nothing, or a voice saying grudgingly _come in._ But instead the door opened and Julian stood immediately in the way of anyone hoping to just stroll into his quarters. An elegant counter, that did not put Garak off at all from his goal. He hesitated just long enough to see if Julian would offer any greeting (he didn’t) and then beamed.

“Doctor! I was thinking of our conversation from earlier–”

“Were you?” And one strange step after another, instead of continuing to block the doorway, Julian walked away and sat on the couch, leaving Garak to pause mid-gait and then follow him.

“Yes, one of our more intriguing debates as of late. I thought that perhaps it wasn’t quite over.”

“And when is it over, Garak? When I blow you off with an obvious excuse and walk away? Or when I give in and tell you what you want to hear?”

The dig hit its mark. Garak’s face settled somberly and he folded his hands behind his back, practically at attention in parade rest. He dismissed the cheer in his tone like smoke.

“If the conversation is over, you simply have to tell me it’s over, Doctor Bashir. No excuses necessary.”

Julian sat on the couch, elbows on his knees, hand folded over fist in his front of his mouth. He stared at the replicator. Garak’s jaw twitched.

“Well? Say it then. End the conversation and I’ll leave.”

Julian’s eyes closed. The implication that _I’ll leave_ applied to more than just his quarters was felt.

“Or should I stand here and keep talking while you can’t bring yourself to carry out your own ideals? All or nothing, indeed. I would say refusing to end this entirely falls somewhere between, wouldn’t you?” he couldn’t help but let his voice swoop in tone, the way it did when he enjoyed being irritating if not being right, “And why is that? Why is it that you insist on scavenging the pleasure of such a grey creature in your presence?”

Julian’s eyes opened but remained in a glare at the replicator. Garak swept out of parade rest to crouch beside Julian’s legs.

“Tell me, is it the moral superiority? That _would_ be emblematic of a good Federation member. Is it amusing? An indulgent stretch before waltzing off into your next mess of a military strategy in this war?” and now his voice got away from him and turned into a snarl, “Is it just a good _fuck_ every once and awhile?”

The doctor finally turned to him, cheek falling boredly onto his fist, and appraised him. Garak felt dissected. Of course compassion was traitorous and miserable! How could he argue otherwise, when lately he had felt the blunt tool so often himself from the good doctor. The ragged burn of being dragged back and forth between all or nothing.

“Is that all this is, Garak? That you’re lonely?”

The simplicity of it took his breath away. There was no rebuttal. He might have tried _Couldn’t it just be curiosity?_ But he had already given himself away with his tone, with the wince around his eyes. A rookie mistake; you could never let the interrogator know where their methods hurt most.

Julian got up, leaving Garak aware that all he’d done was throw himself at his feet like a pleading lover, but he said over his shoulder, “Sit down. Try not to talk. I’m going to make you tea.”

Garak closed his eyes against the pain of the little kindness, of the not-quite end, and opened them resolved to neither smile or sneer. Julian would see through either. He lifted himself from the floor and sat on the couch, as the doctor pressed an order into the replicator rather than say it out loud. 

Julian brought the tea to the coffee table and stood rather than sit down with him. Garak took the cup and cursed the little tremble in his hand. Maybe not enough for– dammit, no, of course. The improved eyesight and coordination of his doctor would surely notice even the slight shake in his wrist, even if he would never be so petty as to mention it. 

Maybe the only way out of this complete and utter loss would be the fraying rope of humor. _Where do you think I should go next on my tour of exile, doctor?_ But then he drank the tea, and of course– it was exactly as he liked it. Red leaf, a little too hot, and no spice added since it was late at night rather than the morning. Julian had once convinced him to try putting honey in it, and he’d sighed melodramatically to make Julian smile and then taken a sip, only to very sincerely flinch and declare it undrinkable, which had done the greater service of making Julian laugh and begin rambling happily about the ancient practice of beekeeping. 

He took another sip rather than say anything. Julian had asked him not to, and maybe it would be a dull knife of his own to assent and sit in silence. He saw Julian’s chest expand with a deep breath. He’d seen it do the same without a uniform over it, laying beside him in bed like a mountain range that rose and fell.

Eventually Julian sat down, in the chair on the other side of the table. Garak didn’t raise his eyes farther than the man’s shoulders, but he saw his hands clasped between his knees. The pose of someone preparing to say something reasonable the other person didn’t necessarily want to hear.

Garak finished the tea. He set the cup down on the table gently. Eventually, if he didn’t say anything, Julian would have no choice but to ask him to leave. The pantomime would end.

Julian sighed, and Garak allowed himself to look up and see the doctor rubbing the space above his forehead– where the ridge would be in a Cardassian. It was only a sign of frustration in humans.

“Garak.”

He sat obediently in silence and let Julian kill him slowly by staring at him from across a coffee table. 

“I think it’s better if you don’t talk for this. It’s hard to seriously argue with you when you get off on it.”

“You used to enjoy our discussions,” it slipped out, a bit too petulant.

“I _did,_ didn’t I? I wonder what changed?” sarcastic, angry, and then another sigh.

He remembered the fight, that ever since he had absolutely refused to acknowledge had happened. The moment when Julian realized _why_ Garak was being arrested after their visit to the Founder’s planet, when the captain had almost sympathetically and quietly announced the charges in front of the doctor (and he’d seen through their transparent little affair the whole time, of course he’d known). Garak had only offered a shrugging grin as they’d led him away, and then no contact, no messages. The doctor, presumably, was busying himself. Then after six months Garak had gotten home, returned to his quarters for twenty minutes before Julian had showed up to begin a top-of-the-line shouting match. If anyone had suspected they were doing something sordid, they would only need to walk down the hallway that night to hear the roaring fight that would confirm it. Julian had refused to be touched, and they’d circled around the furniture. Garak’s strategy had been denial that he was in any danger at all of suffering, and also to prolong the argument until Julian broke and he could comfort him. As soon as Julian started crying, Garak would be able to kneel next to him, to see if he’d be allowed to wipe his eyes and offer his shoulder and embrace. 

Of course, he’d made a severe miscalculation– Julian didn’t break despite being clearly distraught for at least two hours. Instead he denied Garak the satisfaction of winning on a technicality, and threw him out, almost to the point of grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and literally throwing him through the door. The door had shut and presumably, Julian had finally– What? Broken down in tears alone with nobody to hold him, shrugged it off, gone to bed? The point was that he preferred suffering alone than letting Garak comfort him, and so Garak made sure they never even ran into each other again.

So how could he have known Julian had been replaced by a changeling? He knew Juilan was alive, that he was doing some light dating, that he was in the medbay, all things easy to overhear and gather without having to see the man and know there was something off. Another timeline where they’d never fought, where maybe the changeling would have been found out as soon as Garak went to its quarters in the middle of the night and it reacted with confusion because its intel would say nothing about their affair. A hypothetical that provided little tunnels of thoughts that were hardly comforting; if Garak had been on the station when he found out Julian had been replaced with a changeling, he’d have either assumed the man was dead or demanded uselessly that they try to find him. It was lucky he ended up dropped in his lap, even if it was in the misery of a war camp.

Some kind of forgiveness had been given there. Tain’s one good grace had been to offer the doctor insight into why Garak was the way he was, why he would do what he tried to do at the Founder’s world. It was the kind of thing that couldn’t come from his own mouth without sounding like an excuse or justification. He couldn’t have _planned_ the emotional manipulation of Julian watching him plead with his father on his deathbed any better. 

And to insist on working in the cramped crawlspace to try and save them all; what a wonderful tactic on top of Tain’s death. A ploy to be seen as brave and self-sacrificing. That was all. Any sympathy or love he’d ever earned was counterfeit, deliberate, strategic. Sentiment was a vulnerability almost everyone had, the weak ankle of sentient life. Sentiment for one’s country, one’s people, one’s duty, family, father, maid, son, lover. Sentiment for the idea of doing something that could be seen as admirable. 

_If that’s true, it’s a lesson I’d rather not learn._

He watched Julian’s fingers twist themselves, his thumbs rub his palms.

When they had escaped from Deep Space Nine, Julian had been forced to let Garak into the medbay, had stroked his forehead and checked his pulse and batted away his clear irritation at being tricked (for Julian to have a secret even Garak hadn’t suspected had stung, and he’d played the card more sincerely than he would have liked) and then sent him out. And then later, shown up at Garak’s quarters, dropped his bag on the other bed, and without saying anything they’d become temporary roommates. Some fucking, all initiated by Julian, always a bit mean and afterwards he’d shower and go back to his own bed without a word. Never the glowing and tender attention of before, but still, it was not the easiest time to turn down a proven vice. When it seemed like death was so complete and imminent it was just nice to have something, anything. 

Tentative little lunches, once and awhile, interesting enough and civil. And the argument today, and now, the tired ending of the affair. Or maybe not the affair, which had already ended, but the idea of the two of them at all, in any capacity. All or nothing, and it had come down to nothing.

“Doctor. It’s alright. What is it you say when you lose a patient? _Call it_.”

No scolding response, and Garak looked up. The hands had unfolded and now dragged over the doctor’s face. He realized, as the fingers and palms hid the features underneath, that it may be the last time he’d ever see his face at all.

“I know. I’m trying,” his voice broke, and Garak breathed out and kept watching his hands.

“What can I do to help you?” 

It hurt to hear himself speak with such cloying sympathy, like he was talking to Tain all over again, quietly comforting someone on their deathbed.

Julian shot up from the chair and shook his clenched hands at him, “You can make this all or nothing! You can go back in time and stop yourself from doing something so stupid! You can go back and stop yourself from ever talking to me at all!” Angry, again, but more like their fight from after the six months in prison than anything they’d had since. 

Garak measured his tone away from sounding patronizing, “I cannot do that.”

“Of course you can’t, so now we’re trapped here in this room and I can’t just tell you to leave! So we’re left with pretending it’s fine or you can help me end this by showing me there’s nothing left. Give me a stranger I can rage at! Show me I’m not losing anything at all, that you never cared for me, that there’s nothing to end in the first place. That would be easy.”

“Doctor,” how badly he wanted to say _Julian_ , “What do you think I’ve been doing?”

Julian clenched his fists and then crouched to the floor, beside the coffee table where he’d ended up pacing, and pressed them to his temples. The tension snapped and he slumped. He dropped his hands sunk onto his knees. 

“ _You and I are too wise to woo peaceably._ ’”

“Your friend Shakespeare.”

“Yes,” the heat of the argument had submerged, a sea creature that had shaken the ship and then sunk out of sight. 

“I must say, I’m surprised you think the problem here is that we’re both too intelligent.”

An almost amused but red-eyed look from the doctor, “I clearly think there are more problems than that.”

Garak let him sit in silence, and eventually Julian folded his legs in front of him to settle more comfortably on the floor. He sounded thoughtful.

“I think of that quote because you’ve done exactly what I wanted you to do. Or at least what I thought I wanted you to do. You’ve tried to push me away. And instead of it working, I just recognize it as you recognizing what I want, and trying to do it for my sake. So instead it does the opposite.”

“You really shouldn’t think so highly of me, doctor.”

“And using _doctor_ like that, even that. Deliberately formal, and I just end up finding it intimate that you know me well enough to do all of these little things to help me push you away. Or maybe I’m just making excuses for you and the way you act. And then I’m furious because I still haven’t let go, and it’s clear I don’t want to as much as I’ve been trying to convince myself. Because I’d have to be a complete fool to _not_ want to let go, and yet.”

“At the Jem’Hadar camp, if it makes you feel better, it was all a ruse. Tain was never my father, but he was delirious enough at the end that I was able to lead him into seeming so. An old act of ours that he might have ended up believing. And rewiring the communicator–”

Julian actually huffed a laugh, “Oh, sure, rewiring the communicator was just a bluff to get me to forgive you, not to save our lives including your own. You know, Garak, sometimes you go so out of your way to act like everything you do is planned to seem clever that it circles all the way around and makes you sound completely ridiculous.”

Garak smiled. A real smile, so rare that his face felt like someone else’s. Julian smiled back at him. He wanted to crawl across the floor and kiss the daylights out of him, until Julian fell backwards on the carpet and laughed against his mouth. Garak came back to reality and put the smile away, leaving behind only neutral diplomacy.

“I think we’ve decided that I should leave, but you can’t be trusted to kick me out. And I–” he couldn’t bring himself to say _and I cannot bring myself to end this for you, “_ I should leave Deep Space Nine. I believe I’ve accrued enough favor with the Federation that they can arrange another home for me–”

“I don’t want you to leave, Garak.”

“But once I’m gone, then it will be quite easy to accept–”

“No,” Julian shook his head, “No. I don’t think it would be.”

They sat in silence together, watching each other. It was too late to hide the way he sought the edges of the doctor’s face, the way he’d see those eyes observing his own as they passed over the bridge of his nose, as he openly committed it all to memory. 

“I didn’t plan on myself surviving either. If that makes it any easier. I assumed the Jem’Hadar would destroy the ship as soon as I launched the missiles.”

“I figured that out.”

“Still, an impulsive decision.”

“Oh, I’m not defending you. Trust me.”

“I doubt this is a conversation most people have to have with old– friends.”

Julian’s eyes fixed on the carpet, “On the contrary. I’ve been realizing that in our line of work it may be more common than I’d like to hope.”

“Then you should find someone nice outside your work, doctor. That wouldn’t be very hard here on the station.”

Julian shifted his weight, “But whatever would we talk about? The weather?”

“Oh–”

“I _did_ like our conversations. Quite a lot. You listened to me, even when you thought I was being naive or challenging. It was nice to talk to someone who seemed to enjoy hearing me ramble on at length, and you could have smiled your way through it while waiting for me to stop. But then I’d consider that maybe that was exactly what you were doing, and stop talking and feel a bit foolish, and you’d jump in with some comment and it was clear you’d been paying attention the entire time. So well, in fact, that you always knew exactly how to wind me up or flatter me.”

It would be hard to explain what he’d thought of Julian in the first year of their relationship. At first he’d been the world’s easiest fiddle, practically playing himself without Garak’s help. He’d only had to spend a few minutes talking to him, some outrageous flirting, and then the doctor had shown up at the shop and been endearingly disappointed and confused when Garak took his measurements without a hint of follow-through. He was a professional! Hitting on a customer, especially when your hand was up their thigh, was despicable. It was at the end, when Julian had almost pouted while handing him the payment, that Garak had brushed their hands together and offered demurely _and if there are any problems, please feel free to see me in my quarters tonight to get it handled properly._

And so Julian had appeared, decidedly resolute, chest puffed out, no idea what to do now that he was there, and Garak had welcomed him inside, and _would you like me to get changed_ and _whatever makes you comfortable, doctor_ and so on and so on until they were practically chin to chin, and then Julian had given his first surprise by being more forward than expected in grabbing Garak by the collar and kissing him.

Sex with Julian had been a short reprieve from the mind-numbing hell of exile. He wouldn’t say the doctor was a prodigy; there was a lot of elbows, ‘Ah, sorry! Are you okay–’s followed by apologetic kisses, a little too eager, a little too talkative, always smiling, smirking, ridiculous, and absolutely impossible not to get swept up in. Garak had never met someone so cheerful during sex. A little kiss goodbye, on the cheek or the nose or, once with a pause of cultural uncertainty, the forehead– and then Julian would finish tripping into his pants and head out, or Garak would bow his head politely and make an exit.

After the incident with the implant, they had avoided each other for a few weeks. Nothing angry or bitter, but there was a charge in their relationship that would have to be dealt with, and it was not clear yet which way it would go. Garak suspected that it was part of the medical personality to forgive even the most hateful patient, but surely a lover wouldn’t be excited by the overwhelming amount of weakness he’d shown. Desperate, violent, miserable, a failure– Julian was a young man who’d had his fun, who didn’t hate Garak because he was too compassionate to abandon someone in need of help, but surely the novelty of going to bed with a spy had fizzled out.

Julian had eventually called him to say, “I won’t be able to make it to our lunch date today, I unfortunately have a sizeable amount of work that needs attention.”

That had been unsurprising, but then he’d added, “Would dinner tonight be alright with you instead?”

Suddenly the blatant transparency of the excuse to cancel lunch had seemed charming, “Why yes, doctor, that would work wonderfully for me.”

And he’d predicted the way the night would go as he’d worked the next three hours; Julian would smile at Garak’s pleasantries with his chin tilted slightly down, believing it was his most attractive angle, and dinner might go uneaten depending on how quickly the conversation progressed from small talk, then walking backwards into the bedroom, distracted. Sex that would be less cheerful than before, slower, gentler, burdened with meaning. 

The night had played out almost exactly to form, except when Julian had set down his glass of wine and said firmly, “As the CMO, I will say this. Never hide something like that from me again. I don’t care _what_ our relationship is, or what it needs to be for you to feel comfortable coming to me for help. You almost died.”

“What would you like me to say, doctor?”

“If sleeping with me, or even just having lunch with me, prevents you from seeking medical attention when you are _dying_ , then both have to stop. Completely. If at any point you keep something like that from me again, I’ll end this. Do I make myself clear?”

It was at that point that Garak had stood up, thrilled, and said, “Absolutely,” and Julian, apparently satisfied with the answer that was no promise at all, had followed suit. The sex had been more rushed, more passionate than he’d expected. The doctor had never said so little in bed.

There was no talk about making it exclusive, or public, or planning for the future. They just were together more often, not only for lunch or sex that became more and more about saying what went unsaid, but to eat dinner with each other, to read while the other one worked, to argue for hours, to stay the night. There was something serious festering that neither of them would mention. The closest they came to talking about it was sometimes they’d look at each other and smile knowingly before looking away.

It was, in short, miraculous and completely unexpected to find something like this in the naive mark he’d flirted with on a whim in the replimat.

Then, the increasingly real threat of war, of Cardassia suddenly caught in the jaws of something bigger than Bajor or the Order or diplomacy. The moment when the only thing that made sense was sacrificing a few lives and the Founders, to win revenge in one hand and victory in the other. He couldn’t apologize to Julian for something that he’d meant wholeheartedly. With anyone else, it would have been automatic to lie.

“This might convince you– Part of me still wishes I’d done it.”

Julian’s jaw set but he didn’t yell, only glanced at Garak and blinked, “We would have avoided hundreds of millions of deaths. I can’t say I blame you, in hindsight.”

“But you could. Blame me, that is. If that helps.”

“I don’t forgive you and I don’t trust you,” Julian rubbed his cheek, “But I understand. Your compassion for your father, for Cardassia, was stronger than your compassion for me or Captain Sisko or Worf, or compassion for the Founders. It won out.”

“Compassion? I would have thought you’d say it was my loyalty to Cardassia that won out.”

“Maybe, except you behaved emotionally, impulsively. You were thinking of Cardassian lives, not the Cardassian government. It repulsed you, how little the Founder thought about killing all of them. But then maybe that’s what all loyalty to a country is. The Founders are certainly capable of loyalty, to themselves. But compassion… No. There really is something different between the two.”

“I sense some projection. Maybe you just want to designate whatever wins as compassion and whatever loses as loyalty. As always, an unfair bias against a principal Cardassian value in favor of some Federation tenet.”

Julian’s smile was very small, “Oh, could you ever forgive me?”

“Always, doctor. But that’s not why I’m here.”

“I just– I want to believe there’s a way to live with the ambiguity. Maybe not with Section 31, not with Starfleet, or the war, but at least with us. I thought that’s what I was doing when we started, but the truth was that I never had to face who you were or what it meant, not until it was my life on the line. Even in the holosuite, when I had to shoot you… Part of me glossed over that you were willing to let everyone die, because everything worked out and I didn’t want to think too hard about it; I could tell myself that you were just trying to save my life. And then finally I couldn’t make any excuses for you, and I was angry with you– I’m still angry with you, but I think I was also so angry with myself for willing myself not to see it for so long. I didn’t have any right to be surprised, I’ll say that.”

“Pardon me, but I think it’s a bit self-indulgent to find a way to make this _your_ fault, doctor.”

Julian had once said very softly, stroking his hand up and down the inside of Garak’s arm in bed, _I love you._ And Garak had realized with a screeching halt that there was a gulf with two decisions suddenly side by side, and he’d been approaching it for months. He could say _I love you too_ and commit to something far more dangerous than their vague agreement, something that could be used against him, something that could put Julian in danger. Or he could get up, laugh in the man’s hurt face, chatter on about how it seemed he’d been unclear about their arrangement, _so sorry_ , and then leave and never see him again. 

He’d always been willing to find any kind of middle ground, even if it bloodied his knees or scratched his face; he’d taken Julian’s face in both hands and kissed him hard, eyes squeezed shut. Then he’d pressed their foreheads together, and Julian, out of adrenaline or empathy or prior research, had known to press back and stay there, panting. 

There were no non-binary choices; the decision had been _say it back or don’t_ and he’d chosen not to. He’d found a cowardly way around it without losing everything. Julian had never said it again afterwards, but sometimes he’d press up against Garak’s forehead, a little too hard or long or at the wrong moments– nuances a Cardassian would understand– but with such earnest happiness to communicate affection that it was dizzying. 

It had been years since the last time they’d touched like that, when Garak had gone on and on about how much he hated the romantic suffering in _Crime and Punishment_ despite enjoying how much the inspector liked tormenting the main character, and finally noticed that Julian was fighting a grin.

“And I couldn’t make heads or tails of what to think of the poor woman– Alright, what exactly is so funny, Julian?”

Julian had shrugged slightly, pursing his lip and looking mildly more innocent, “It’s just uh, I didn’t actually get around to reading the book.”

“What!”

Julian had burst out laughing.

“It was _your_ idea! It’s an Earth book!”

“I know, I know, but I ended up being very busy this month, and I started it, I just… Didn’t really enjoy it.”

Garak’s undisguised horror had made Julian continue laughing, and he overplayed it as soon as he realized, mouth agape as he leaned closer towards the doctor on the couch.

“After all the times you’ve complained about my recommendations and you let me read that _monolith_ without a single thought for how perhaps _I_ was also busy…”

He’d loomed over Julian, and the doctor had sunk under him with eyes suddenly flashing arousal more than amusement, and tilted his chin up, “How _unusually_ dishonest of you.”

The kiss had been softer than intended. Almost inexplicably sad. Then Julian had pulled away and brushed his thumb under Garak’s eye, and then pressed their foreheads together quietly and with practiced ease.

Back to the present, to his uselessly sympathetic tone, “Again, Julian. What would you like me to do?”

Very quietly, “Come here.”

Impossible to disobey. Garak got up from the couch and sat down in front of Julian, who was leaning back on his hands, legs in the process of uncrossing. They could have been sitting down for a picnic. He waited for Juilan to stop watching him and say something.

“I think I’m different. And you’re different. Maybe we’re both more similar than we used to be. I think that counts for something, really. And I think at this point we all have to live with some kind of ambiguity. I would at least like to enjoy mine.”

Julian leaned forward and his hand found Garak’s, and they pressed their palms flat against each other reflexively.

“And to be honest, Garak, I just miss you.”

Garak’s voice caught, once, twice, revealing what needed to be revealed for at least the moment, “Well– don’t stop there. What’s the next line in that sordid mess? _Come, bid me do any thing for you._ ”

Julian pulled him closer.

-

-

-


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao hold on. i was sad there was no kissing in the first part

Garak stared down at the man sleeping. It was a charmless face. Easy to mold into someone else, certainly, but what made a good spy made for a dour shell. Garak folded his arms behind his back and resisted tutting. Without opening his eyes, the man spoke.

“Are you going to kill me in my sleep or do we need to talk first?”

“Ah! Good, you’re awake,” Garak smiled pleasantly, “And just talking, thank you.”

Sloan sat up in bed. His hand came up to mime wiping sleep away from his eyes, a gesture of innocence and humanity; but he seemed to think better of it and dropped the charade.

“Well? What would you like to know, Elim?”

The use of his name (even Julian reserved it for private moments) made him want to hiss through his teeth, but that was the point, so he just blinked rapidly as he tilted his smile, “I don’t need any of your information, Mr. Sloan. In fact I wanted to share some information of my own.”

“About Dr. Bashir, I’m sure.”

Garak had expected this, and his eyes narrowed over his smile, “It’s wonderful to talk to someone who can keep up.”

“Then let me guess– You’re here to threaten me not to bother our mutual friend any more than I already have, because how dare I threaten his rare optimism any further.”

Garak pursed his mouth and frowned at the ceiling thoughtfully, “No, no, not quite. The doctor is already quite aware of reality, even if he doesn’t always enjoy it. In fact I’m rather grateful to you for having walked him through some of the basics. I've been too busy myself.”

“You’re not upset that I’ve ruined the doctor’s ability to sleep at night? I’ve heard he’s not as sweet and cheerful as he used to be.”

Garak’s smile halted just once before reforming, and the clench in his jaw was perceptible but passing. So be it. There were certain things he would inevitably reveal during this conversation anyways. Why not let Sloan get comfortable thinking he was in control?

“Traits of youth that would have been lost anyways,” he doesn’t care to mention that there are times Julian still grins the way he used to, shoulders hunched and directed shyly downwards, or that just because there is less cheer doesn’t mean it is gone entirely; if Julian was the kind of person who went indifferent and unaffected through a devastating war, he’d be worse for it.

“So then what do we need to talk about?”

“I wanted to give you some advice, Sloan,” as casually and lilting as if he was about to recommend one shirt over another, “Which is that a good spy should never form personal attachments.”

“You think I’m going to seduce the doctor away from you?”

That was so laughable that Garak had to keep his face from contorting, “A personal attachment is not necessarily platonic or romantic. I think you enjoy Doctor Bashir as a victim. A challenge. You’re putting your personal interests ahead of your organization’s goals. And while you let your head be turned so often one way, you may fail to see the whole picture.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“Of course.”

Sloan smirked at him, and even that seemed pantomimed; Julian had been right. There was something missing from this man and the rest of the Section 31 drones, that level of emotion and understanding that made being such an unrepentant liar unbearable and so was often discarded. To keep that empathy however was to be a master, if one was willing to live with the self-loathing. Garak looked back at him and understood that Sloan had been too weak to keep his humanity. He’d put it away and only echoed it as a pale strategy, without realizing how transparent all his gestures and glances really were. Garak inhaled and reminded himself not to underestimate the man; pride was just as bad as insincerity. 

“I just think your fascination with the doctor goes past an interest in recruitment. You should let him sit for a few years. At this point, the war will disillusion him for you, and he'll show up on your doorstep without any trouble.”

“You really think that?”

Garak had to admit it was a good question. The truth was he did not think that. He believed that whatever happened to Julian, whether he left the Federation or became bitter or disappeared and withered away alone somewhere, he would never agree with Sloan. Garak believed that whatever might happen, whoever he might become, that there was nothing that made Julian himself as much as his belief in doing something right. Not what he was told was right, by his parents or his superior officers or by his friends or even the Federation, but by what he believed. That ridiculous teddy bear on the shelf in his quarters was enough to know he would never submit to something as self-assured as Section 31.

The best way to be believed was to tell the truth, “No. I don’t.”

Sloan grinned wolfishly, “Good. Don’t bother lying to me.”

“You’re right. I guess we could chat in your bedroom all night back and forth about who’s the better spy, but for once I’d prefer the truth. Luther, I’m impressed by Section 31. Its arrangement with the Federation, its free reign, its history, its operatives, its alliances, its foresight– if the Obsidian Order was still around, it would take us a hard month to wipe you off the charts instead of just a week.”

“But the Obsidian Order _isn’t_ around.”

“No, it isn’t,” Garak leaned close, neck craning, jaw looming, eyes focusing, all those lovely instinctive qualities of the early Cardassi ancestors who ate prey raw and were now suppressed in polite company, “I am.”

Sloan didn’t budge, “And I’m supposed to be afraid of you? Because you know my name? An exiled old tailor?”

It did make Garak grin to hear the old epithet he always used turned back on him, and that finally made something twitch in Sloan’s face, “And I do _hate_ being an exiled old tailor. That’s exactly what I am. In fact I would love an excuse to feel alive again, even if it meant getting off this freezing purgatory and being sent to some cozy Starfleet prison to hem pants until I died.”

“Trust me. If you killed a Section 31 member, you wouldn’t make it off the runabout transport before you died of natural causes.”

“Assuming that my target is a Section 31 member. But maybe I’m thinking of a woman on Earth. Who, according to record, has no ties to Section 31. Blonde hair is nowhere in Cardassian genes, so I admit I’ve always been fascinated by it. And then even in humans it’s rare, isn’t it? Just because the parents are blond doesn’t mean their children will be.”

And then with a fluidness he wasn't sure he still had, he reached out and wrapped his hand around Sloan’s throat before the man knew what was happening. He smiled gently as he forced Sloan’s chin up. 

“But she’s so innocent. Maybe I would prefer to just kill her husband who ran away from his family when things got hard with excuses of duty and sacrifice, although rumor is that nobody’s seen or heard of him for years. She wouldn't even notice if a man like that disappeared,” he thought of Tain, of the way _for Cardassia_ was always the perfect reason to do anything no matter how stupid or selfish _,_ “Trust me, Mr. Sloan. I say it from experience.”

Sloan’s eyes had just the lightest spark of fear, satisfyingly real, “You go against me, and Doctor Bashir will be used to _invent_ new kinds of torture.”

“Oh, that would be a shame,” Garak tightened his hold and scratched a claw over Sloan’s vertebrae, “I was implying that your death would be incredibly easy to make look like an inside job by your own colleagues, and I don't think Section 31 has time or interest getting involved with revenge. I would hate to be convinced that some small family on Earth would be an easier target after all."

“You’ve gotten cozy with your position here on Deep Space Nine. Do you think the Federation values you more than me? Do you think if it came down to it that you would be protected? You’re a Cardassian. A contract employee breaking codes in a dark room to earn your keep. Your little friendships and history with the officers here wouldn’t save you a second of pain if I ordered it. I’ve sacrificed admirals, and you? You’re a pet. And just because the doctor gets to hold your leash doesn’t mean he wouldn’t let go if push came to shove. What would he say if he knew you were threatening to do any of this?”

Garak pouted, “He’d be very upset with me. He’s so unsympathetic. Not like Jessica, I’m sure.”

And then he released Sloan’s throat. Sloan glared at him, now with a perfect fidelity. No imitation, no mask, but just a honest desire to cause Garak pain. The fact that he didn’t make a move despite this desire gave him away; if he wasn’t afraid of what Garak had threatened, he would simply pull out a phaser and kill him, have his body disposed of, his transport files to some far-off planet fabricated. Instead Sloan was stalling, and that was all the information Garak needed.

“But you’re right. I would never go after innocent people. He’d never let me hear the end of it. But, you’ve said something that _does_ interest me,” Garak made a show of pondering, “You or me, who’s worth more to the Federation? Of course I’m just a novelty. The only Cardassian available who can break the enemy’s codes, but, no, of course, how could I possibly believe they’d value that over some petty issue you refused to back down on? What you should really consider is the logical progression of steps the Federation would take, say, if I disappeared. If Section 31 demanded it, then it must be allowed, of course. _However,_ I can guarantee that Doctor Bashir– and I can’t flatter myself, it’s just who he is– _would_ look into my disappearance. Oh, maybe you could dissuade him, plant some false evidence or, maybe our doctor is too intelligent. Too stubborn, definitely. You could give up your fascination with him and disappear him too– and then his friends would certainly investigate that, until you had all of Deep Space Nine involved. And I don’t think Section 31 would consider protecting _you_ worth the war's most important space station and the Bajoran Emissary. So killing me would be easy– until it wasn't.”

Garak found Sloan’s eyes like a lightning bolt, “But on the other hand, if I made you disappear… Well. That’s what you’re supposed to do. How can I get in trouble for killing a man the Federation won’t admit exists? It wouldn't be worth killing even a lowly Cardassian codebreaker over.”

Sloan glared at him, chest moving, “We’re the ones keeping good Federation members like your doctor safe, you know.”

“Yes, like when you had him tortured in your game with the Romulans. I think what you should ask yourself is, how much amusement is he really worth to you in the grand scheme of things?” Garak stood up and yawned, “Oh, it is late. I’m sorry for disturbing you at this hour. I hope I've made it clear that it's in your best interests to leave Doctor Bashir alone for the time being. I would hate for you to get in trouble.”

And he stepped away from the bed, waved at the video recorder installed behind the light in the ceiling, and walked out. 

-

He resisted the urge to see Julian for a week. Holding Sloan by the throat, seeing the fear in his eyes, feeling victorious– it had, to his amused self-admonishment, been exhilarating. He’d wanted to go straight to Julian’s quarters and pour all that adrenaline and power over the good doctor. He could picture Julian’s surprise and annoyance at being woken up, his melting into Garak’s arms when the point of the visit became clear, the way they’d infectiously rile each other up in a way that had been stifled in the claustrophobic presence of the war. He’d been walking vaguely in that direction and suddenly pictured what a relief it would be to just touch Julian’s cheek, to know he was safe, when he’d realized what a mistake it would all be. Sloan of course would find out, and then it would become apparent that their conversation had rattled Garak more than he’d let on. It was a better move in the long run to do nothing differently.

Once he’d resigned himself to the best plan, it had always been fairly easy to adjust and accept it. He went through the week peacefully, happy to break code, sew some hideous dresses, and even had dinner with Ezri who rambled on awkwardly in a way that was so familiar that all he could do was smile. He had no wish to pursue the same flirtatious arguments with the young counselor. He sat across from her and drank a glass of kanar, just happy to let her talk and encourage her to keep going when she stopped to ask if she was being annoying. 

He was listening to some Klingon opera (at volumes too low to be considered authentic, but nice enough to hum along to while cutting fabric into patterns), when the door rang. 

“Come in– Oh, Julian! What’s the occasion–”

Julian stepped across the room in lunging footsteps and gathered Garak’s hands up in his own, pulled him close so their clasped hands were pressed between their chests. Garak was able to regain enough peace of mind to notice Julian staring tenderly at his mouth, and leaned in to kiss him. Clearly the right move; Julian let go of his hands to wrap his arms around Garak’s shoulders and lean into him, enough to cause them to stumble back. 

“Feeling alright, doctor?”

Julian kissed his chin; whenever he was feeling unapologetically romantic he was prone to kissing whatever part of Garak was closest. It was not a symptom he’d seen since their fight, even after the sex they’d had recently as an almost-forgiveness, which had only been excruciatingly wordless and slow. 

“Yes, I just,” another kiss on the cartilage connecting his jaw and ear, and the doctor’s pace already seemed a bit more restless, “I just wanted to see you.”

“You haven’t ingested any strange new atmospheres or stimulants, have you? No behavioral adjustments, no spiritual possessions?”

Julian laughed right in his ear, “No, no. I just talked to Odo. Apparently Sloan cancelled his stay here. And any future stays. He said he’d wanted to talk to me this month but I guess he changed his mind. The only thing that might explain it was that someone was seen leaving his quarters a week ago–”

Garak tensed. He hadn’t cared if anyone knew he’d visited Sloan, and in fact had hoped to make it clear that he wasn't intimidated by the man’s personal recording devices or the possibility that Odo would know. He just hadn’t meant for Julian to find out.

“Doctor, I–”

“Garak,” Julian held him at length, “Do I seem like I’m mad?”

Garak paused, “No, actually.”

And then Julian was back to mouthing along his neck and murmuring, “Then stop calling me _doctor_.”

“I remember that sometimes you used to like– Ah!” Julian had bit a sensitive place, “Nevermind. You’re really not… Curious?”

“If whatever you said made him leave me alone for a week then I’m ecstatic,” a gentle kiss right where he’d bitten down, and Garak held onto Julian’s waist to stay upright.

“You’re not worried I threatened him with something awful, something you’d never stand behind?”

Julian pulled back enough to look up at him, “Maybe you did. But I don’t think you’d follow through.”

Julian went back to walking Garak backwards towards the bedroom, and Garak talked through his stuttering breathing.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Past evidence suggests that when you have done things you know I’d hate, it’s been impulsive and influenced by loyalty to something you feel strong emotions about,” he had the nerve to sound like he was giving a lecture while his hand snuck up Garak’s tunic and scratched down his chest, “In this case, you made those threats for me. Maybe some really vile stuff, I don't know. You would never actually do it, is the thing. It wouldn't make sense to do something for me if you knew I'd also be unable to live with it."

Garak saw some logic in the argument, except for the hypotheticals that involved kidnapping Sloan's family in some kind of hostage exchange, torturing Sloan in revenge– but then again, as the ideas played out, they did always fall short as soon as he imagined Julian's grave face closed off to him forever. If there were two buttons, one to save Julian and one to save, oh, a transport of Federation soldiers– well. It would come close, but Garak would stand there and know Julian would choose the latter himself. He would hate Garak if he chose the former, for making him live with that kind of guilt.

“And how can you be so confident I went to see Mr. Sloan just for you?”

Julian directed him with a light push towards the bed, and took the opportunity to begin peeling off his clothes as Garak sat down, “Why else?”

“Arrogant. Maybe I want to join Section 31. Maybe I’m working with the man.”

“Hm. I guess I should put my clothes back on and go back to my quarters then,” Julian continued pulling his socks off.

“You don’t seem to believe me.”

Julian sat blithely down at the other edge of the bed in his boxers, “No, not really.”

“You want me to say it, don’t you.”

Julian blinked at him innocently. Garak sighed.

“I posed some unpleasant implications if he continued to bother you–”

Julian was on him immediately. He laid down and let the doctor crawl over him, letting his hand stroke idly up and down his back. He might have felt the two-note pattern of breath associated with Julian mouthing _Elim_ against his chest.

“Really, Julian. How can you hate that man’s guts but act this way towards me–”

Palms flat on the mattress to either side of Garak’s head, holding Julian up above him, “I’m not even going to entertain that.”

“Please do. What was that about arguing with me you said last time? It 'gets me off'?”

Julian rolled his eyes but leaned down to scrape his teeth over Garak’s sternum, “Your clothes are still on. That’s no good. And Sloan is a miserable narcissist who’d justify anything to himself because his life is so wrapped up in his work and the idea that it’s all necessary. Anyone who disagrees is just naive, and anyone who agrees is objective. Complete bullshit.”

Julian sat up and tugged lightly on Garak’s tunic, until Garak sat up and started pulling it off, “And what does that say about me? That you think of me as some undignified mess constantly doubting himself and doing his best to play nice?”

Julian shrugged, and began awkwardly trying to pull off Garak’s pants while still straddling him.

“I think I should be insulted.”

Julian raised his eyebrows as he dragged his hand pointedly over some anatomy, “Should you?”

Garak squinted, “Hm.”

He batted Julian away so he could take off his pants.

-

-

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FADE TO BLACK we can't show alien fucking on 90s cable tv i think. alien foreplay absolutely
> 
> inter arms legs would be a better episode if at some point garak appeared at the foot of sloan's bed and made thinly veiled threats that the next time he'd wake up it could easily be in a malfunctioning airlock

**Author's Note:**

> "but pray thee now, tell me– for which of my bad parts did thou first fall in love with me?"
> 
> that tumblr post that's like 'my friend just refers to garak as that old gay war criminal who lives in the mall' and that's the best summary of what ds9 is like


End file.
